Page 130 of On the Breakaway

In fact, he admitted to waking up early to make everything because he wasn’t sure what I liked and wanted options. When he told me, I noticed him running his tongue along his teeth, which I’m beginning to realize is a sign that he’s embarrassed.

I decided not to tease him for it.

“You’ve barely touched the fruit,” Grayson says.

The sound of his voice pulls me back into the conversation.

I glance over to find him holding the container toward me.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve already eaten my body weight.” I point at him accusingly. “You’re always feeding me.”

“Someone should make sure you eat something other than freezer pizza.”

“You really don’t like freezer pizza?”

“I guess sometimes, but I like cooking.”

I groan dramatically before falling backward onto the blanket.

The grass cushions me as I stretch out, staring up at a sky that has begun shifting from bright afternoon blue into softer shades of gold and orange.

“No one likes cooking,” I announce.

“Lots of people like cooking.”

Beside me, I hear containers closing and the rustle of bags.

When the noises stop, the blanket shifts while he lowers himself beside me, one arm tucked behind his head as he settles onto his back. His bicep flexes as he gets comfortable, reminding me that for all his softness, there’s nothing remotely fragile about him.

My body buzzes, and his shoulder is just close enough to touch if either of us moved an inch.

When I glance over, he’s already looking at me.

“Why do you like cooking?” I ask.

He turns onto his side to face me, his arm propping him up.

“My mom loves to cook. Even with a house full of kids, she always found time to cook elaborate meals. She always had new recipes to try.” His lips tilt up as he gets lost in his memory. “She said it was a labor of love.”

“She sounds sweet.”

“She’s the best. That’s why I started cooking. With three older sisters, spending any time with Mom alone was nearly impossible. But in the kitchen, cooking dinner, it was always just us.”

“I can’t imagine looking for a way to spend time with my parents.” The words slip out on impulse as envy crawls up my spine.

“I’m sorry they put you in the middle.”

“Wasn’t always bad. It usually meant I’d get to do whatever I want, both of them too afraid of being the less fun parent. It’s probably why I’m so selfish now.”

He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Is that what you think about yourself? That you’re selfish.”

“Aren’t I?” I ask, my eyes searching his.

“If you were selfish, you wouldn’t have helped some random old man take a selfie. You wouldn’t have taken care of Harper, using your own pain to soothe hers. You wouldn’t have pushed Wesley into dating Nathan, knowing it was best for her, regardless of the fact that it’s the last thing you probably wanted her to do.”

I look back up at the sky, trying to hide how badly I needed to hear that from someone. But as the knot in my stomach loosens, his fingers land on my cheek, pulling my chin back to face him.